


old happenings and things that are gone

by thirtysevensounds



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, In Memory of Beverly Katz, This is not a romance, this is a friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirtysevensounds/pseuds/thirtysevensounds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your life’s not special, asshole.”</p>
<p>Brian looked over towards his door and saw Bev standing there, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Or, in which Beverly Katz is dead and Brian Zeller doesn't know how to mourn his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	old happenings and things that are gone

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I accidentally deleted this because I'm super adept at how technology works, so this is me reposting it! I kept the notes from before, so that's why it seems so dated.
> 
> Title is a lyric from "Haunt" by Dan Smith/Bastille (there's a version from before Bastille and a version from Bastille that's called "Haunt (Demo)" and they're both phenomenal and I listened to them both millions of times while writing this, so I had no idea how to credit it. I'm rambling. Sorry.)
> 
> For the past month of season two, all I've done is spew headcanons at a friend of mine about Brian Zeller and Beverly Katz.
> 
> This is the culmination of those intense moments on Skype. Shout out to Reilly for listening to my jumbled mess of messages.
> 
> Really, I just have a lot feelings about Beverly and a lot of feelings about Brian, and at some point, the feelings collided.

“Your life’s not special, asshole.”

 

Brian looked over towards his door and saw Bev standing there, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You heard me. You’ve been moping in this room for a week now. You have a fucking life, man.” She crossed the room and sat next to him on his stained couch. "You have a job that you love – and are good at! You have, or, maybe it’s had at this point, a girlfriend who really cares about you. You have friends, Bri.” Her expression softened, but she kept her arms crossed, like she was hugging herself. “You have to go outside.”

 

Brian didn’t say anything, wouldn’t look at her.

 

“Just ‘cause I’m not here anymore doesn’t mean I’m gone, you know?” She paused. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll haunt you forever.”

 

He took a deep breath, and looked to his left, hoping she was really there and that this wasn’t the product of another night spent drowning in whatever bottle he’d found in the back of the pantry.

 

Of course, nothing.

 

-

 

“Class, this is Brian Zeller. Brian, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class, tell us a little about yourself.”

 

Brian looked at the wrinkled excuse for a Hebrew school teacher incredulously. Was she serious right now? He rolled his eyes. “Um, right. I’m Brian, but Mrs. Lowe already said that. Erm, my family just moved here from inside the D.C. city limits. I’m eight, but, duh. And I guess I’m a pretty big fan of Batman. He’s rad.”

 

Mrs. Lowe gestured to a seat next to a girl with long dark hair, raising an eyebrow at him. He sat down and she turned to him. “Batman, seriously? C’mon, dude, you’re better than DC comics.” She rolled her eyes and blew her hair out of her eyes. “Ugh, sorry to say this, but Mrs. Lowe can go on and on, and just doesn’t get that our b’nai mitzvot are eons from now and we’d rather be anywhere but here. Literally. Anywhere.” She eyed him up and down. “You’ll do, though. I’ve been in the market for a new friend, ‘cause these lames suck at Hebrew and I need someone who can keep up with my admittedly high levels of awesome. You up for it?”

 

He just kind of gaped at her. He’d be doing a lot of that for the next few years. “Um. Sure?”

 

She grinned. “Excellent. I’m Beverly. Beverly Katz, but, seriously, call me Bev.” Beverly wrinkled her nose. “Beverly’s the name of someone’s dead great-aunt. You going to Hunters Woods Elementary?”

 

Brian nodded.

 

Beverly grinned again.

 

-

 

All he could see was bracesbracesbraces, holy  _shit_ , Bev had freaking braces.

 

“Not a word, Zeller.”

 

“But, Bev, c’mon, they’re braces. Like, braces!” Brian couldn’t wrap his mind around this. Bev’s bat mitzvah was in a month and a half and her parents decided that now was the best time for braces?

 

Beverly slammed her locker shut and glared. “Yeah, I know, asshole. They’re braces! I look like such a dork. But you know what?”

 

Brian raised an eyebrow in question.

 

“I’m a freaking goddess, anyway.” And with a hair flip, Beverly left Brian watching her walk away, doubled-over in laughter.

 

-

 

Beverly's dad was a reporter for the local newspaper, and she grew up wanting to make a difference in murder cases/disappearing cases because he always complained about how nothing he did was worth it, how no matter how many people he talked to, no matter how many people read his story, it was never enough. There was always something else that was more front-page news or some other asshole kills some other person and everything sucked.

 

So, she vowed to never enter the journalism industry because it was, "too fucked up, right daddy?" and instead discovered that her street chalk was good for outlining bodies and not just playing hopscotch.

 

And then during middle school, with the advent of the Internet and the introduction of  _real science_  to their education, she realized that murders really were just mysteries that needed to be solved. And she could solve them.

 

Brian claimed he was only ever along for the ride, but when telling this story, Bev would smack him and let everyone know that it was his chalk they used, and that he was the one whose locker was spray painted with a swastika. He was the one who had something to prove to everyone else.

 

They figured out who the culprit was by checking the bottle they found in the trash for fingerprints.

 

(That, and Bev overheard Taylor Johnson's idiot girlfriend talking about it in the locker room while changing for gym that day.

 

That was the first time they kicked ass together.)

 

-

 

Brian let the dirt fall from his shovel onto the grave. He barely registered passing the shovel on to the next person. He was numb.

 

The problem with a Jewish funeral, he thought, was that because they only taught him to read Hebrew back in school, but not understand it, it was really easy – too easy – to be left alone to your thoughts.

 

To be honest, he’d always thought he’d be the first to go. Maybe Bev would’ve finally snapped and killed him for some snarky comment, but really he just thought Bev would live forever.

 

She’d kill him if she found out he was being so sappy, thinking such eye-roll worthy thoughts. Hell, he’d found himself thinking in metaphors, like Will Graham, and he’s so not prepared for that transition.

 

It’s just – and he loves Jimmy, don’t get him wrong – it’s just that Jimmy’s a lot older than he is, married with kids, at least one of whom is in college now. Bev was Bev, the longest they’ve been apart for was undergrad, and even that wasn’t that long. This is permanent.

 

Jack suggested he talk to Dr. Lecter about Bev’s death, to help him work through his “issues.”

 

(He wasn’t going near Dr. Lecter with a ten-foot poll with Taylor Johnson from high school on the end. That guy gave him the heebie jeebies. Seriously, though, what happened to his eyebrows and  _what is with_  those fancy dinner parties?)

 

What Jack doesn’t seem to get is that Brian doesn’t have issues; he has one issue. Beverly’s dead. His best friend died and they don’t know who killed her. His issue was with the fucking irony that Beverly Katz, who got into this field to solve mysteries, died a mystery.

 

-

 

“I better be your best man, Zeller.”

 

She was going to be his best man.

 

-

 

He’d known her since they were kids and this? This fucking sucked.

 

-

 

Will Graham sat across from Brian in a booth at a bar

 

“I just…”

 

Words were hard.

 

“I just really didn’t…”

 

Really hard.

 

“I wasn’t ready.”

 

How the fuck did Shakespeare always know what to say?

 

“It’s like there are these two songs stuck in my head. There’s a frenzied, hurried one, and it’s sad. But also kind of happy, hopeful, like if I just rush through life eventually I’ll move on. But then there’s this sad one, and it’s so subdued and slow, like I’ll wallow my way through this. But they have the same words and there’s this dissonance that’s shaking me and it’s like my insides are having a seizure.”

 

He paused, without looking at Will. “Sorry, I know you had those seizures last year.” He hiccupped. “And I don’t think I’m making much sense right now”

 

“That’s okay, Brian,” Will said, stumbling a little over the very informal use of Brian’s name. “You’re experiencing grief, mourning the loss of a loved one. A piece of your soul’s shattered into thousands of grains of sand, so fine that no matter how hard you try, there’s no way for you to pick up the pieces. You’re a poem without the words, just a beat you’re trying to follow, a flow that ebbs with the moon’s phases. These things, Brian, take time.”

 

Brian caught Will’s gaze, a little shaky, but steady enough. The man was trying, really trying. “You lost her too, didn’t you.”

 

“Beverly Katz will haunt me forever, whatever path I tread from here and to wherever I wind.”

 

Brian snorted. “Yeah, she has that effect on people.” He broke eye contact and looked into his glad. “Erm, had, I guess. She had that effect on people.”

 

Brian wasn’t sure how he ended up here with Will Graham, of all people. The man looked incredibly uncomfortable, sitting stiffly on his barstool with a glass of water sweating in front of him. Brian rolled his eyes and sighed.  _This one’s for you, Bev. The weirdo was your friend_. “Tell you what, next round’s on me. What do you drink?”

 

Will relaxed somewhat, like he had been waiting for Brian to grant him permission to be here or for his acceptance or something. “Whiskey. Neat.”

 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

-

 

Brian rolled his eyes. This was going to be horrible, that much was for sure. “Seriously, Bev, what the fuck?”

 

Beverly glared at him. “I went with you to that Sarah girl’s horse race.” She paused. “I still have nightmares about the smell…” She shook her head and glared again. “Whatever, that’s beside the point. I went with you to that. You owe me, Bri.”

 

Brian groaned. “But, a piano recital? You know it puts me to sleep. Since when did you like classical music?”

 

This time she rolled her eyes. “It’s called trying new things, Brian. I was just talking to Michael the other day about how I’m really trying to branch out and find myself. This is high school, you know? This is our adolescent prime.”

 

“Wait, you were talking to Michael?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“Michael Schwartz?”

 

Beverly rolled her eyes again. “Yes, Brian. Michael Schwartz.”

 

“The one we went to Hebrew school with?”

 

“The very same.”

 

Brain arched an eyebrow and smirked. “The very same piano prodigy Michael Schwartz, who just got a scholarship to Julliard?”

 

Beverly blushed fiercely and Brian laughed, shaking his head. Guess he’d be going to a piano recital tomorrow night. He supposed it would be better than moping about how Sarah Nichols was going to the prom with Taylor freaking Johnson.

 

-

 

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just seen Beverly, naked, in bed with his cousin Jeff.

 

He only opened his eyes when someone cleared their throat.

 

Beverly stood before him sheepishly. “Hey.”

 

“Seriously, Bev? Jeff? My cousin Jeff?” Brian whined. “Why? I thought you were seeing Laura still?”

 

She scoffed. “Nah, I broke that off weeks ago. She was looking for a bigger commitment, and I wasn’t feeling that. Between classes at the Academy and working graveyard shifts at the diner four nights a week, life’s too crazy right now to pursue a real relationship.”

 

Brian’s face softened a little. “Aw, I’m sorry, Bev. That sucks.” He winced. “But Jeff?  _Seriously_?”

 

Beverly laughed. “Hey, he’s in town for your Bubbe’s birthday, and I’ve always liked his face, so I figured, why not? I didn’t expect you to barge into his room unannounced.”

 

“I didn’t expect him to be so occupied. I was going to see if he wanted to grab a drink before the dinner. Get prepared for the relatives asking if we’ve met any nice Jewish girls and when to expect the first kid.”

 

“Whatever, dude. I’ll see you later. I’m going out with my friend Rachel tonight and I need to get ready.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “You should meet her sometime. I think you two would really get along.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Beverly hugged him and left.

 

-

 

Beverly was nervous. Her right leg was shaking up and down, and she was playing with the ends of her hair. He knew her tells. He could tell she was terrified.

 

“You okay?” He already knew she wasn’t.

 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I mean, no. Yeah. Um, no. I mean. I don’t know.” She was babbling.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yes.

 

There was a pause, and then the dam broke. “I can’t do this, Brian.” Yes she can.

 

“Yes, yes you can.”

 

She shook her head. “No, I really can’t. I can’t go out there and I can’t face him.” She looked like she was going to cry.

 

She was.

 

“He’s been sick for a while, Bri, and he hadn’t said anything to me until the other day, when he tried to tell me something and I fucking brushed him off to see Michael again before he leaves.”

 

“Bev…”

 

She looked up at him, tears falling freely now. He thought back on their friendship, and he knew she had seen him cry, but somehow, the sound of her tears hitting the floor told him he’d never seen her cry. He’d never seen her like this.

 

“Bev, it’s going to be okay. I promise you.”

 

She laughed. It sounded hollow, like words on a page. “My grandpa’s dying, Brian. It’s not going to be okay, don’t fucking patronize me.”

 

Brian didn’t say anything and Beverly’s leg stopped moving.

 

“Sorry.” Her voice was weaker this time, thinner.

 

“Don’t ever apologize to me. If you need to scream, scream. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here. If you need a wing-man, I’m your guy.” He knelt next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “If you need anything ever, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. No one else can keep up with your admittedly high levels of awesome, you know? You’re stuck with me, for better and for worse, so don’t you dare apologize for needing something, for not being whole at the moment. Because we’re all just puzzles and we’re not always put together properly, and that’s when a friend comes and helps you.”

 

-

 

The last thing he said to her was: “I can’t tonight, I’m sorry, Bev. I promised Rachel that we’d go out to dinner with Jimmy and Marc tonight.”

 

She’d said, I forgot that was tonight, damn. This is kind of important, and he’d been worried.

 

But it can wait until the morning, I think, she’d said. Yeah, it can definitely wait, maybe it’ll even be better.

 

He’d looked her in the eyes and asked her to swear that she was okay, that she was absolutely-without-a-shadow-of-a-doubt certain that it could wait, because a reservation’s just a reservation.

 

You’ve had a rough time at work lately, she said, and I know that Jimmy’s been looking forward to this since Marc’s been off kilter since Kylie left for college.

 

Promise me, Bev, he’d demanded.

 

Go home, Bri.

 

-

 

Brian decided that he didn’t mind being Beverly’s friend. Sure, she was really weird – who asks someone to be their friend so bluntly like that? – and, yeah, she doesn’t seem to be the nicest kid, but she was fun. She was fun and really smart. She had the same recess as him and picked him first for her kickball team.

 

Plus, he was comfortable around her.

 

-

 

He was going to throw up.

 

Dr. Lecter killed Beverly.

 

Dr. Lecter sliced her into a diagram.

 

Dr. Lecter ate her kidney.

 

_What the fuck is wrong with him?_

 

He wanted to cryscreamshoutdiepleasewhy

 

He couldn’t look at Will, couldn’t speak to Jack, couldn’t be in the same room as Alana.

 

(Not that it mattered; Will was in the hospital, Jack was packing his office, and Alana was sitting at home on the floor with a bottle of wine and too many dogs)

 

-

 

He was just so sorry.

 

-

 

(It’s a two way street, Brian, you fucking idiot. You’re there for me and I’m here for you. Always and forever and all that sappy bullshit. Don’t apologize to me. I love you, asshole, and I’m here.)

 

-

 

When he and Rachel finally got married, he didn’t have a best man, and no one questioned it. Jimmy planned his bachelor party. His brother made a toast. Will stood alongside Jimmy, an old friend from college, and Brian’s brother.

 

The day before the wedding, Brian went to the graveyard where Beverly was buried.

 

“Bubbe’s going crazy, Bev. Alternating between crying and planning when we’re supposed to have our first kid.”

 

He’d visited her grave a lot since her death. It had become his go-to place when he needed to think or work out an issue.

 

Talking to her was like leaving an extended voicemail, even if he knew she’d never call him back.

 

“I’ll see you in the doorway, I’m sure. ‘cause you wouldn’t miss this, and since I told my therapist about you not being here but not being gone, I know you’re haunting me and can’t miss it.”

 

“Don’t worry, though. We won’t name our first kid Barbara. I know how you feel about little-old-lady names.”

 

-

 

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from this. But he would try.

 


End file.
